The Failure of Destiny
by The Seven Bells
Summary: If things had gone wrong, and Merlin had not been such a good or forgiving person.


The battle was over. Bodies were strewn about, as if a giant hand had swept them aside, and the well toiled fields of Camelot were watered with blood. The carnage was seemingly endless, the burned fields and the mutilated corpses stretching to the far horizon, and the stench of death could be smelled for miles around.

In the midst of all this carnage, stood the once great city of Camelot. The formerly white walls were blackened and scarred, and there were great gaping holes in the battlements. There were buildings on fire, and craters in the ground from where particularly powerful spells had hit.

The day before, the soldiers of Camelot had scoffed and mocked as an army of seedy and unkempt sorcerers had emerged from the trees, looking messy and unorganised. But all laughing had stopped when, without warning, the first spell had been thrown. A whole battalion had been lost in a few flashes of coloured light. Amusement had quickly turned into rage as the soldiers of Camelot saw their comrades so brutally massacred, and they had charged the sorcerers. Most did not make it. They were wiped out as flashes of light, fireballs and boulders had been hurled at them. The battle quickly intensified.

The few knights who did reach the line of magic users had a great advantage over the sorcerers, as, although magically powerful, they were still physically weak. However, the tide of sorcerers was endless, and even those few knights who were somewhat successful were quickly overwhelmed. Every magic user, from the most piteous sorcerer, barely able to conjure a flame, to the powerful leaders of the old religion that could control the elements had come to the fields of Camelot, to fight or die.

They had rallied to the call of Emrys. The one who the prophecies had spoken of for generations had finally come to take revenge on Camelot and the Pendragons. It seemed the Druids' meekness was only because they had no leader, no general. But now that the all powerful Emrys had come, the man who could level mountains and destroy armies with a wave of his hand and a flash of his eyes, they were ready and willing to take on Camelot, to avenge all those who had burned in Uther Pendragon's flames.

They had easily, almost callously, pushed Camelot's soldiers back to the walls of their city, where they were massacred, unable to defend themselves against the tide of magic users. Hundreds of men had fallen like sheaves of wheat; their mutilated corpses had piled up against the turrets of their city. The remnants of the army had routed, unwilling to face the same fate as their fallen comrades.

Once the army was defeated, the city was an easy matter. The citizens offered no resistance. They were terrified.

The main citadel was another matter. It was manned and guarded by the best, Prince Arthur and his knights. Camelot's finest. Many sorcerers died when they were forced to fight close quarters, their blood staining the cobble stones of the keep's main courtyard. Prince Arthur himself was a demon, cutting down those who he had been trained to kill and hate since birth. But not even the best soldiers in Albion could stand up to Emrys.

He swept into the courtyard, and it seemed like time stopped. He wasn't tall, or strong. But there was a definite aura of power surrounding him, a sense of incredible might which seemed to radiate from his very skin. There was a moment of awe, before all of Camelot's soldiers were blasted back to the walls, their spines snapping. Only Prince Arthur was unaffected by the carnage. Emrys strolled over to him, his eyes blazing like miniature suns. Those eyes flashed, and Arthur was suspended in the air, helpless.

"Your Highness! What a pleasure to finally meet you!" Emrys said sarcastically, giving a mock bow.

Arthur's eyes were full of fury. "Go to hell," he spat.

That just made Emrys smile. "Probably. But before I do, how about you tell me where daddy dearest is hiding first hmmm?"

"Never," Arthur shouted, "I'll never sell him out to scum like you!"

Emrys only smiled, but before he could say anything, there was a stricken yell.

Uther Pendragon came limping into the courtyard, his sword held high, determined to save his son. He staggered over to Emrys, rage in his eyes, while the warlock looked on, amused.

"Oh never mind Arthur. It seems your father has come to meet his doom himself. How disappointing. I was rather hoping to get a bit of sport out of hunting him down, but no matter. The end result will be the same," Emrys said, smirking.

"Leave my son alone you worthless mongrel!" Uther cried, charging towards Emrys, his rage giving him a boost.

Just as Uther was about to run him through, Emrys muttered something under his breath, and the king's sword went red hot. He helped in pain and dropped the weapon, cursing.

Emrys' eyes flashed, and Uther suddenly went very still. Then, a bloodcurdling scream ripped from his throat, and his face contorted in agony.

"FATHER!" Arthur screamed. Emrys turned to him, and his eyes flashed gold. Arthur fell to the ground with a sickening crunch, and said no more.

Emrys strode over to Uther, smiling. When he reached him, the spell holding him stopped, and Uther collapsed spread eagled on the cobbled stones of the courtyard, utterly broken.

The warlock crouched down. "Now you see don't you. Now you realise just what you have done. You brought this upon yourself. _You_ killed Arthur through your arrogance. You _ murdered_ your own son." He whispered this into Uther's ear, and a broken sob tore through the king's lips. Emrys stood up. He planted a foot on top of Uther's back and shouted loud enough for all to hear,

"Today, my brethren we have triumphed over this evil tyrant! Today, we given all magic users back the right to a normal life! Today we have achieved what most of you have been fighting for for most of your lives! Today, we have earned our freedom!"

There was a great cry from the assembled magic users, a roar that came from over two decades of oppression, a roar that although was full of hope and happiness, was also tinged with sadness for all those thousands who had died in order for this day to finally come.

"Collect firewood," Emrys shouted above the din, "and build a pyre, for tomorrow the tyrant king burns for his crimes!"

There was another great roar, and the sorcerers scurried away to collect wood.

Emrys bent down and whispered into the king's ear, "A fitting punishment don't you think?" He smiled, and strode away. And Uther looked up, completely destroyed, and watched as his destroyer swaggered off with everything he held dear.

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><p><strong>My musings on what could have been. Might upload prequel to this at some point. I hope you enjoyed reading this.<strong>


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